Back to Safety
by Jenmm31
Summary: Sam got out. He got out and finally had the family he'd always dreamed of—a wife and a daughter. But then tragedy strikes and he's left to pick up the pieces of his new reality. Adjustment never comes easy, but can he handle these "firsts" on his own or will he finally have to admit he's not okay? AU, daughter fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello and thank you for stopping by to check this out! This story brings my original character, Emily, out to play again. She's the daughter of Sam and his wife Sarah. You can check out some more humorous stories about her life in two of my other stories: _The Visit_ and _Family Pass_. It's not necessary to read them to understand, but it will give you some background knowledge on their lives. This chapter is more toward the beginning of Sam and Emily's journey. I enjoy writing Emily, so I hope you all like her, too.**

 **I have a few other ideas in the mix to write about Emily, but if you have any ideas of things you'd like to see, don't hesitate to let me know! I love collaborating with others on ideas!**

 **A special thank you to Emma Winchester 424 for being my biggest cheerleader along this crazy path. I couldn't have finished this story without her (seriously, she helped write it)! I owe you so much! If you love daughter fics, she has an amazing one about Dean's daughter Natalie. You'll love it and should check it out!**

 **I will forever be grateful if you feel inclined to leave a review and let me know what you think. Part 2 of this story will be coming later this week, so stay tuned :)**

* * *

It had been only two weeks since _it_ had happened. An event that not even Sam could speak of to his own brother. Because, to him, there were no words that could properly describe any aspect of what had happened. Sarah, his wife of three years, had passed away in a horrible car accident, and his life had literally been turned upside down. He'd never forget getting that phone call from the local hospital to let him know that both Sarah and his little two-year-old daughter Emily had been critically injured when a drunk driver smashed into their car. Everything that spiraled out of control after that call was permanently engraved in his mind. From Cas showing up to Dean making an instinctive decision…honestly the details didn't matter. What did was that he'd left that hospital with only his daughter, not his wife.

Dean had stayed around, wanting to help look after his niece Emily and keep a watchful eye on Sam in his vulnerable state. But after the first week, Sam couldn't take it any longer. He loved his brother, there was no doubting that, but being under his watchful eye, as if he'd crack at any moment, it was too overwhelming for him and he ended up kicking Dean out, stating over and over that he was "okay." Dean had tried to fight it, but eventually he realized there was no winning against a stubborn Sam. He unwillingly left, but that didn't stop him from calling or texting every chance he got to check in.

The next week had sped by but yet time stood still. It was like a dark veil had covered Sam's mind, confusing him about what was reality and what wasn't. He felt lost, like he couldn't quite find his way in this new world. There were dark days that not even Sam wanted to begin to dissect. He'd known dark times from many years ago, when his college sweetheart Jessica had died. But now was different—he and Sarah had been married, had a life together, a house, _a daughter_. And suddenly his previous grief couldn't even compare to the new onslaught of pain that overcame his world.

But today was a new day—a new day that forced him to shove down the darkness and focus on what he knew was really happening: all the neighbor-made soups and casseroles had run out and they needed more food and other necessities. If it had been just Sam, he'd forego the food to avoid a trip to the outside world. But it wasn't just him—he had a two year old to think about and his paternal instincts wouldn't let her go hungry. With no other reasonable options, Sam was forced to get dressed with Emily and take off for the grocery store that afternoon just before she was set to go down for her nap. This would be a quick trip—in and out in a flash with just the basics. He tried to keep the lingering thoughts at bay about how this used to be a _family_ trip…one that had included his wife.

Emily, on the other hand, was delighted to get out of the house. After Uncle Dean had left, there hadn't been much entertainment for her as Sam was more withdrawn in the last week than normal. She revealed in the excitement of a trip to the store.

* * *

Emily was diligently holding her dad's hand as they entered the local supermarket. She liked coming here-Mommy let her pick out the ingredients to make cookies and all their food. It was a place that evoked happy memories for the little one and dread for the eldest Winchester.

With a free hand, Sam grabbed a cart and took a look around. He was pleased to see that the place wasn't overly crowded...but then again it was a Thursday afternoon, so who really shopped then anyway? He reached down to pick up his little girl and strap her in the front part of the cart, but Emily immediately pulled her hand away and took a defiant step back. She knew what he was about to do-tie her into that contraption that she couldn't figure out how to unbuckle. She pleaded, "Daddy, nooooo! Me walk."

Sam was surprised when Emily pulled back, but upon hearing her plea, Sam shook his head. He wasn't going to risk having to chase down a toddler today. "Sorry, Peanut," he said, using his special nickname for her to soften the blow. "I need you to sit in the seat, okay?" He reached for her again, thinking his simple reply would do the trick.

But the rebellious girl took another step back and threw her hands out in front of her to keep him at a distance. "Nooooooooo. Please. No. Me walk." Sam could tell by the look behind her eyes that she was on the verge of freaking out...so he had two choices: make this a battle worth fighting or let it slide to move on with their task. The ultimate parenting decision of choosing which wars to start.

"Okay, okay, Em. It's fine. You can walk if you want to, okay? But you need to hold Daddy's hand." He put one hand out towards her, knowing that if he moved to grab her hand, she'd panic.

She stuck out her bottom lip and stomped her foot, wanting her displeasure to be known. But in the end, she reached for his hand, realizing she couldn't fight him and she was ultimately getting what she wanted.

They headed into the store, going straight for the produce section to start their trip. Emily walked quietly for a bit as they stopped in front of the apple crates. She pointed to them and announced, "I help." It was her usual routine when she came here with her mother and sometimes they came with Sam, too, when he wasn't studying up on cases. Sarah never lacked patience a day in her life. She'd calmly let Emily pick out the right ingredients as well as any two year old could.

Sam smiled, seeing that she wanted to help, but he wanted to get in out of this place faster than ever. Today…today he didn't have the patience to be out in public and move at a snail's pace. It was only a matter of time before he'd see someone he knew and he'd get the pity stare. He _hated_ the pity stare. It was fake and only made the recipient feel that much worse. "That's okay, Peanut. I got this." He quickly plucked a plastic bag from the roll and started putting apples in.

Emily's nose scrunched up at his rejection, but she realized her hand was no longer locked by his. She slid around the bin of apples and stood on her tip toes, searching through the red sea. Finally, she found _THE_ perfect apple, her usual task. She held it up gleefully with a smile. "Look, Dada. Good apple."

Sam smiled at her cuteness. From sheer reflex, he turned to tell Sarah to look at their adorable daughter, but then suddenly he realized all over again that she was not there. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to retreat into its hidden corner, then turned back around towards Emily with a big fake smile. "Good job. Here. Put it in the bag and let's move on." He held the bag out to her. They had to get out of here before Sam couldn't hold it together any longer and the dam burst.

She quickly placed it in the bag with a smile and then sped off to the tomatoes that were not far away. She started rummaging through them for no reason other than fun as she waited for her dad to catch up so they could pick some.

"No! Emily!" He panicked as she ran. He quickly pushed the cart over towards her. The second he got over to the tomatoes, he scooped her up. "Emily, you can't run away from me like that. Remember what I said? You have to hold my hand?" He'd literally lost his wife in every sense of the word, so not having Emily within reach was enough to make his anxiety skyrocket and all his senses were heightened. She was all he had left.

She stared at him when he spoke, clearly understanding what he was saying, but not liking it. She started to squirm incessantly and stated, "Down."

Sam held onto her, hating the fact that she was already squirming. "Emily," he said, trying to recapture his daughter's attention. "Do you understand that you can't run away from me like that again?" He wanted to make sure she understood before putting her down.

She pushed against his chest to distance herself. "Yes, Dada. Down!" His little girl was trying to become more independent each day, which was turning into a never-ending battle.

Sam grimaced at her pushing hands, but he didn't want to fight any more than they already had. He slid her down to the floor, making sure to keep a gentle grip on her arm until it reached her hand. He held it firmly as he stretched for another bag to get tomatoes. Trying to keep the moment light, he asked Emily, "How many tomatoes do you think we should get?"

Still not liking the fact that she was constrained by his hand, she tried to let it go and quickly answered Sam with a grin, "A hundred!" Every little kid's favorite number.

Sam chuckled at her answer. "That may be a few too many." Making sure he still had a tight grip on her hand, he looked at the tomatoes and then realized he had a problem. With the bag in one hand and Emily in the other, he couldn't actually get any tomatoes. He sighed and squatted down next to his daughter. "Okay, Em- if I let your hand go so I can pick tomatoes, you need to stay right here and not run away. Okay?"

At realizing she'd be free, she shook her head fervently. "Yes, Dada!" Sam nodded, satisfied with her answer and gently let go of her hand, waiting a moment to be sure she didn't bolt. She was a toddler and thus capable of anything at this stage; he could never predict what she'd do, so running off was always on his radar. Emily just grinned innocently at him as he then turned his attention to picking some tomatoes. Meanwhile, she was clearly all about pushing her boundaries-she was two after all. It came with the job description. She took tiny steps to the left, putting an inch of distance between them. When Sam didn't notice, she did it again and again...this game was fun. A good way to pass the time.

Sam finally bagged about four good tomatoes. He pushed away the thought as to whether or not it would be enough since he didn't have anyone to ask. He looked down and saw that Emily was slowly moving herself away from him. Sighing with frustration, he set the tomatoes down in the cart, then walked over and hoisted her up in his arms. "Emily, what did I tell you about not moving?" he scolded quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them.

She was shocked-the fun game came to an abrupt and awful end. She pushed at his chest again, trying to get put down. "Noooo. Me no run." More squirming as she pushed on him with even more power. "Noooo!" She hadn't run, so in her mind she was clearly obeying him and her game had been fair play.

Sam looked around quickly, embarrassed that she was being so loud. "Okay, okay," he said, quickly putting her back down. "Emily, use your inside voice. Come on." He held his hand out to her.

The outburst quickly faded away when she received exactly what she wanted. She grinned and trotted along beside her father as they moved into the aisles. Emily continued along without complaint, but her feet were starting to get antsy with the slow stop-go pace that was happening. All she wanted to do was sprint up and down the aisle to see how fast she could do it, but her dad's death grip on her wasn't allowing that as an option.

Sam looked quickly at the myriad of options of crackers. Which was the one that Emily always ate? He picked up a bag of Goldfish and held it out to the child. "What do you think, Em? You want some goldfish crackers for home?"

Her eyes lit up. "Fishies!" She smacked her lips together to make bobbing fish sound, something her mother had taught her.

Before she can declare her love for them out loud again, an elderly white-haired woman halfway up the aisle noticed the tall gentleman and called out, "Excuse me, young man? Could you help me?" She pointed to a larger box on the top shelf that she wasn't able to reach with her short stature.

"Uh- yeah. Of course," Sam said. Without really realizing it, he dropped Emily's hand and stepped over to the woman. He reached up easily and plucked the box she was pointing to off the shelf. "Here you go," he said awkwardly, handing it to her.

Meanwhile, Emily was thrilled at her sudden freedom. This was it. This was her moment to see how fast she could run down the aisle and back to the cart. She knew she could do it in a single second-that's how fast she was. She just knew it. She never planned to leave the actual aisle or her dad's sight, but she had to test her toddler theory. Without a second thought, she was off, racing down the aisle at full speed, sheer determination to get to the end and back before the "second" was up. Her dad would surely be impressed to see her superpower fastness.

Sam heard the pitter patter of little feet running away from him. He whipped around just in time to see Emily take off. "Emily!" he yelled, thrusting the box into the little old lady's hands before taking off after her. His long legs quickly overpowered her short ones, and he yanked her up under his arm until he could properly place her on his hip. "Didn't I tell you to stay put, young lady?" he said, his tone a little harsher than normal due to the terror of seeing her take off running. It was every parent's worst nightmare in a store, especially his in such a fragile state.

Emily had been so close to the end of the aisle, it was within reach, and she was sure a second hadn't even passed. As Sam scooped her up, her feet kept kicking as if she were trying to keep running. She immediately fought him. "Noooo! Dada, down! Stoooooop."

"No, Emily, you stop," he said, pulling her in tighter as she kicked. "You know better than to run. I guess you're going to have to ride in the cart now since you can't listen." He'd put her on lockdown and get the rest of this stupid shopping trip over. He was beyond ready to retreat to his house and hide from the world again.

Emily continued to squirm and try every move possible to get out of his grasp. She even tried to make her body liquid and slide out, but nothing was working. When she heard that she'd be left in the death contraption of a cart, her fussing increased. "Dada, nooooo. Please, noooooo. I do good!"

The elderly lady rested her box in the cart and eyed the protesting little girl as she slowly started to make her way down the aisle past the commotion.

Sam saw the old woman coming towards them, and he flushed red. He bounced Emily a couple times, trying to calm her down before he put her in the cart, wanting to avoid the scene that was quickly forming. "Emily, hush now. You need to stop fussing." He prayed that Emily would listen to him.

Once her body had been placed in the cart, the water works instantly poured. She gripped the handle and started pulling her feet back in to stand up. She had to get out! Through tears that weren't full blown yet, she begged, "Noooooo! Daddy. I walk!"

Sam looked around, humiliated once again by the volume of her voice. He reached down and immediately undid all her hard work by pulling her legs back down through the seat holes. He leaned down so he was eye level with the child. "Emily," he began in a firm voice, trying to be authoritative, "You're not walking. I told you to stay put, and you didn't listen. So you're riding in the cart. Now calm down."

Even though Sam's logic made complete sense as to why she was being banished to the cart seat, she wasn't having it. When he pulled her legs back through the holes, the tears continued to flow and they didn't stop, they grew louder. She knew what was coming, he was going to strap her in with the complex buckle and her freedom would be over. She continued to cry as she struggled against his hands to try and get out of the seat. "Down!"

"Emily, stop it," he said, but there was almost a pleading tone to his voice this time. He wasn't made for this—for a toddler meltdown in public. He…he couldn't handle it—he'd never _had_ to handle it… _alone._ As he buckled the belt, he murmured again, hoping to calm her, "We're almost done." Even though they had barely gotten started. "We can go home and play, but you need to calm down and be good, okay?"

Nope. The second the buckle snapped, locking in her constrained fate, she lost it. The tears exploded as did her cries. Her legs kicked back and forth in protest as she threw her head back and cried with mixes of "Noooo" and "Stop Dada" thrown in for good measure.

Sam quickly but gently grabbed either side of her arms and tried to keep her from flailing. "Emily Marie, you stop it right now," he said half-heartedly, hating that she was so upset. "Do you want a time out when we get home?"

She stopped flailing her limbs at the mention of a time out and she was just crying now with an added, "NOOO!" Time out was literally the worst thing ever for any toddler who could never sit still. "Time out, NOO!" There was some coughing in between her tears as she continued to wail.

Sam wanted to pick her up and cuddle her as a means of getting her to calm down, but if he did, he'd never get her back into the seat. He leaned down farther, smoothing her hair back and trying to wipe her tears. "Emily, you need to settle down. Come on, sweetheart, please," he begged. "You're okay. Just settle down." He slowly started to feel the walls of the store close in on him, suffocating his every move and lingering eyes watched the commotion from afar.

But her crying didn't stop as she tugged at the evil strap around her waist. The tears kept coming and then as a pure toddler reflex, she blurted out, "I want Mama!"

Sam's insides turned to solid lead. For a moment, he forgot how to breath. Emily was crying- for her mother. All the tears and feelings Sam had been holding inside- had been trying to convince himself to hide for the sake of his daughter- threatened to come pouring out in an instant. He found himself taking short, shallow breaths, as if a full intake of air would cause his already taxed heart to explode. Although the cry was just instinct to want the other parent when she was getting in trouble, Sam's mind couldn't register that.

And he literally couldn't take it a second longer. He quickly unbuckled his screaming daughter from the cart and hauled her up in his arms. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should somehow return the cart with the few items he'd managed to gather up to a stock person or something, but the fact that Emily was still sobbing her heart out made him internally say screw it. He abandoned the cart, pulling her close into his chest and began quickly walking towards the exit. "It's okay, Em. It's okay," he murmured low in the child's ear, praying that this would at least get her to drop the volume of her cries a notch. "It's okay, Peanut," he called her affectionately. "We're going home." _Looks like it's going to be fast food tonight,_ Sam thought, trying not to get frustrated at the screams and shrieks.

Emily's cries began to slow with the sudden change in movements. Her father was holding her and moving swiftly through the store. What was going on? The shock let her tears start to slow to whimpers that were quieter than her previous cries.

As he heard her cries dissipate, Sam wondered for a brief, insane moment if he could actually get her calmed down enough to go back and try shopping. But one look at her face, and he instantly abandoned the notion. Once he got out of the doors of the grocery store, he almost sprinted to the car. As he opened up the back door of the SUV and placed Emily in her car seat, he said to her in a low voice, "It's okay, Em, it's okay. Almost done." He buckled her in, wondering if this was going to start another round of screaming.

And Sam was correct. Being constrained to yet another place let a new round of cries pour out of her mouth. She wasn't fighting it this time physically, but her protests could be heard all around. The proximity to her nap time was clearly playing a role in her reactions, but the hyperactive little girl just wanted to be free.

With the new wave of sobs, Sam quickly closed the SUV door and climbed in as quickly as he could, but he couldn't turn the key in the ignition – not just yet. Between Emily's heartbreaking statement and the emotional turmoil he was feeling, he almost didn't have the energy to start the car. After a minute of gripping the steering wheel tightly, he managed to start the car. He looked in the rearview mirror at his daughter. "Hey Emily," he said loudly over her cries. "Do you want to listen to the Disney Channel on the radio?" He prayed that might buy him a few extra minutes.

Her cries settled for a moment so she could hear what he had to say, but then they started back up again in full force, only a level quieter than before. She did like Disney Channel songs and the princesses, but she was still crying about...something. So, she couldn't stop that just yet.

When Sam noticed that her cries dropped in volume a notch, he figured it was worth a shot. He quickly turned on the radio and flipped to the Disney Channel. "Hey," he said desperately. "Emily! This is that song from Beauty and the Beast, isn't it?" He began singing quietly, trying to remember all the words to the song. Sam wasn't entirely sure why, but he just had to try to distract her. The harder she cried, the more he felt like a failure as a father. He had to help her stop as they drove home.

Emily heard the music suddenly appear and the faint sounds of her dad singing along. She liked Belle's songs. Her crying continued to quiet, but there was still a lot of hiccups and her angry pouting face was plastered on as she whimpered, "Out." She wanted out of this stupid contraption still.

Sam heard the sobbed "out" and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He pressed on the gas pedal a little harder, just wanting to get her home. Two Disney songs later, they pulled into the driveway, and Sam practically rocketed out of the car in an effort to get to Emily. He started unfastening the buckles. "Em- we're home. See? It's okay, baby- we're home."

By the time Sam was getting her out of the car seat, she'd already calmed down enough to just soft whimpers. Her eyes were starting to droop from all the exhaustion of being a cranky toddler. When her dad picked her up, she rested her head on his shoulder and started to drift off into a much-needed nap.

Sam felt her lay her head on his shoulder, and his heart ached all over again. He carefully closed the SUV door, and pressed his cheek onto the top of her head. "It's okay, Em," he kept quietly repeating over and over, in an effort to keep her calm as well as himself. He quietly made his way up the stairs to her room to lay her down.

Emily was almost sound asleep by the time they got upstairs, her brown hair matted to her forehead from being so worked up.

Sam looked down at his sleeping baby and his heart twisted. He gently laid her down in her bed. As he drew a blanket over her, another wave of longing for Sarah swept him off his feet and emptied his lungs of air. Sarah had been so excited to find this blanket in the exact shade that matched the walls she'd lovingly painted. Sam bit his tongue as hard as he could without drawing blood, but it wasn't enough. A tear slipped down his cheek. He reached out to Emily, stroking the matted hair away from her sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered as the tears continued to flow.

It was his turn to cry.

He continued to stand there, lost in a trance as he took in this little girl. She was so small, so innocent, so helpless in all this. His heart was shattering to pieces and he knew if he stood here any longer, he'd lose it even more. With one last glance over his shoulder, he slowly left the room and tried to collect himself as he made his way down the steps. His feet subconsciously led him to the kitchen to grab a beer. He didn't always go for the alcohol when he was having a hard day, but it was something he brought over from his previous life in hunting. Bad habits were hard to break.

He threw himself down in the recliner chair and rocked himself back and forth with his foot as he slowly took a few sips. His mind was running at a thousand miles an hour and yet it was completely frozen, too. He had so many emotions soaring like crazy through his veins that he wasn't able to control anything—and that was what scared him most. He couldn't stop these moments from happening, these "first" moments. It wasn't like the first time Emily walked or said "Dada" to him. Those were happy moments, times that brought joy to his heart. Now he had new firsts. The first time he folded laundry without Sarah by his side making jokes with him. The first time he realized he had no one to speak with at night after Emily went to bed. And now the first public tantrum without his wife there for back-up. To make matters worse, the poor toddler cried out for _her_. She instinctively wanted the only thing he'd never be able to give her.

The love of a mother.

Sam's eyes brimmed with tears at the realization. The understanding that even though he had tried to save his daughter from having a childhood like his own, he had failed.

He'd failed again.

The innocent child would grow up without a mother just like he had. Where the only memories would be those that people repeated back to you through pictures and stories. Knowing what that pain would be like for her only increased his desperation. His years of hunting experience flooded his mind—every spell, demon deal, or wizardry flashed back. He could name a dozen ways of how to fix this, but each one ended in the same awful conclusion—blood and death, _his_ death. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the thoughts and the plans he started to build…at first he fought, but his will was slowly fading away.

He was going down a dark road and he had only one choice.

* * *

 _To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your support through reviews, following, and favoriting this story. Hopefully I won't break your hearts too much with this chapter :)**

 **If you're interested in more, you can add me to your author alerts so you can catch some upcoming Emily stories I am currently writing.**

 **Also, a huge hug and shoutout for Emma Winchester 424 for helping me write this story-I couldn't do this whole fan fiction thing without her. Be sure to check out her Dean-daughter fic!**

 **Sending lots of prayers to those affected by or in the path of the hurricanes! Stay safe!**

 **As always, read, review, and ENJOY!**

* * *

Sam knew exactly what he had to do.

He discarded the half full beer bottle on the coffee table and took off upstairs with a jolt of energy. Retrieving two suitcases from the closet, he entered his bedroom without turning on the lights. He wasn't ready for that. He hadn't even slept in the bedroom yet, only using the guest room and forcing Dean to sleep on the couch before he'd been kicked out.

Sam didn't want to see things, _her_ things in the light because it somehow made it all more real and extremely more difficult. Through the dim light from the setting sun, he grabbed clothing from his drawers and closet and carelessly tossed it in his bag. Within a half an hour, he had all his and Emily's items stowed away in the SUV. They had to get out of here and it had to be now before Sam made a decision to do something he'd deeply regret. There was only one person in the world who could keep him from going off the deep end…again.

* * *

Emily had woken up an hour into the journey in a much better mood than before. She'd inquired why they were driving and Sam simply said they had somewhere to go before passing off his phone to her so she could watch a movie. It was a very uncommon parenting move for him, but desperate times called for even more desperate measures. After _Finding Nemo_ and a happy meal in the car, she was sound asleep as Sam continued to forge through the night.

A few hours later and well past 1:00am, they arrived at their destination. Sam knew he should have called ahead, that would have been the responsible thing to do. But lately he was being anything but that. It was like he didn't even know who he was anymore without her.

Once the car was safely parked in the garage, he retrieved his sleeping daughter from the backseat, balancing her on his hip as her sleeping head rested on his shoulder with a limp body. He paused for a moment, soaking in the warmth of her, before taking a deep breath and walking ahead.

Sam tried the door between the garage and the bunker and was thankful that it was unlocked. The old metal creaked loudly as he entered the bunker, announcing his unexpected presence preemptively. He took a few steps inside and sat one of Emily's bags down in the hallway before closing the door behind him with another squeak. He just had to get up the hall to a bedroom, where he could hide out…and just feel safe behind these concrete walls.

Dean was sitting in his room with a beer, watching reruns of the Three Stooges. But when he heard the creaking of the door, he instantly set the TV on mute and grabbed the handgun on his dresser. Something was wrong—creepy sounds didn't just happen in this lifeless bunker. He slowly made his way towards that part of the bunker, keeping his gun low but ready.

Sam continued to make his way quietly inside, wanting to drop Emily off before retrieving the other bags. He was about to round the corner where Dean was nearing as well. As Dean was cautiously making his way towards the sound, he realized he knew that footfall. He'd recognize it anywhere. He called out quietly, "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes snapped shut at hearing his voice. What was he doing up now anyway? Before he turned the corner, he took a deep breath and rubbed his hand up and down his face, as if he could wash away the tears and pain reflected on it. He pulled his shoulders back, standing tall and walked around the corner, coming face-to-face with his brother. He shifted Emily again so he was holding her tightly, gaining some comfort from it. He said quietly, "Hey, Dean."

Dean quickly tucked the gun into the small of his back and rushed over to his brother. "Sammy- what's wrong?" He immediately started scanning Emily, looking for any signs of hurt or discomfort, because in his mind, that would be the only reason he'd bring her here for the first time.

The concerned look and tone in his brother's voice was enough to make Sam go weak again. His eyes welled up with tears as he finally forced the words out, "I'm not okay." It was something he admitted for the first time, after telling everyone he was doing okay for so long. It hit him hard and he tried to keep it together, not wanting to fully crumble in front of his brother.

However, that admittance, coming from Sam, turned Dean's guts inside out. "Come here," he said in his strong but kind way. He pulled Sam in, making sure he got Emily in the hug too. Chick flick moments be damned- Sammy needed comforting right now and that was still _his_ job.

The sudden and unexpected burst of affection was too much for Sam and there was a release of tears while he was still struggling to keep it together. Winchesters didn't show weakness, especially not in front of one another. But to Dean, this wasn't weakness. This was what they did best- be there for each other. It was all they'd ever really known in their lives. "It's okay. It's okay, Sammy, I got you. It'll all be okay." He wasn't letting go until he felt Sam was ready.

And that was enough to break the camel's back. Sam let the tears just flow, no longer trying to hold them back. It was the release of emotion he'd needed, to admit he wasn't okay. That he was sad, broken, a mess inside. He was safe inside the bunker walls and so was his daughter. Nobody spoke or did anything for the longest time…they were just there, in the moment. Then from Sam's moving body as he cried and the noises, Emily started to stir in her sleep, picking up her head and rubbing her eyes. "Daddy?" she called out. At that simple word, Sam immediately shut it down again. His tears ran dry and he quickly released his death grip hug on Dean. His daughter couldn't see him like this...she just couldn't.

Dean immediately understood why Sam was pulling away, so he slapped on his happy go lucky grin and held his arms out to his niece without a second thought. "Hey, there, shortie. Come to Uncle Dean."

Emily briefly looked between the two men who were standing in front of her. This didn't seem like it had been before she went to sleep, but like any sleepy and confused child, she leaned her body toward the familiar person that was calling her. Dean easily grabbed her from Sam's arms. Sam quickly gave her a kiss on the side of the head before he disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom, needing a moment to himself. He slid down against the wall and let the next wave of tears come crashing over him in privacy.

Meanwhile, Emily tried to get her eyes to focus. Why was Uncle Dean here and holding her now? She looked up and around and all over her new surroundings and then back at Dean. This didn't match up. She clearly had no idea what is going on. Dean felt her confusion and put his hand on the side of her head. "Sshhh, shhh, it's okay, Em. Go back to sleep." He kept his hand on the side of her head and pulled into his chest, gently bouncing her as he walked towards a vacant room next to his. He put his cheek on the top of her head, the painful memory of how close he came to losing her in the accident still fresh in his mind. He laid her down in the middle of the bed and gently pulled the blankets around her.

She closed her eyes, sensing the blanket tucked in around her. Her face scrunched up for a moment and she whimpered quietly, half asleep, "Dada."

Dean's heart broke and for a moment he unknowingly felt like Sam had at the grocery store when Emily had called out for another. He smoothed the hair back off her forehead. "Shhh, shhh. Daddy will be back soon. Go to sleep." He continued stroking her hair, watching to make sure she was really under before he left. The stroking of her hair did her in and her breathing started to even out as she fell asleep again.

Sam, on the other hand, was anything but in a peaceful slumber. He'd managed to pull himself together enough to stop the tears. He struggled to get himself on his feet, feeling weaker than ever, but made it over to the sink to splash water on his face, trying to camouflage the tears.

After Dean was sure that Emily was under, he quietly closed the door, then went to find his brother. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, not sure what Sam needed most right now. Finally, he asked through the door, "Beer?"

Sam was gripping the sink for a moment before running a hand down his face to wipe off the water. He replied flatly, "Whisky."

Dean smiled his sideways smirk, "Comin' right up. Meet you in there." He knew Sam needed a moment to gather his thoughts. Dean walked into the war room and waited for Sam to join him. Once he did, he procured a beautiful crystal decanter from behind one of the old-fashioned machines surrounding the room. He looked at Sam for a moment, who was staring at the crystal. He shrugged, "Who says I can't have nice things?" He poured a healthy draught of whisky for his brother and one for himself. He handed it off to Sam, then raised his own glass. "Cheers."

Sam reluctantly raised his glass, not feeling that he had anything to "cheers" about. He took a sip and then twirled the liquid in the glass, staring at it for a while before speaking. "Do you have any hunts coming up?" It was his way of asking if it was okay that they were staying here.

Dean put his feet up on the table. "Just finished one. I was thinking about laying low for a while- just taking a break." All this was code for _of course- stay as long as you need_. They slipped into silence for a while. Finally, Dean broke the ice, knowing Sam would need prompting to actually get to the reason behind his sudden appearance. "You wanna talk about it?"

Sam took a rather large gulp for him. There was a long pause, and Dean's patience was clearly noticed. "She threw a tantrum at the grocery store." Another long gulp and pause, Dean could tell that he was not done. "She...she cried out for Sarah." He finally looked up with water laced eyes. "She wanted her mom…and I can't..." He looked away. "I can't give that to her, Dean."

Dean ran a hand over his hair and down his face. This was so out of his realm. He didn't know what to say or do. He took another sip, then finally said, "Does she...understand? Does she know why...why Sarah's not coming back?" He couldn't bring himself to say outright that she was _dead_. It was just too much and he didn't want to risk pushing Sam over the edge. He'd been down this road when Sam had lost Jessica all those years ago, so he was no stranger to a grieving Sam. But with his daughter involved, it added a whole new layer to the unchartered waters for him.

Sam chuckled more out of frustration than anything. "She's two. How much of this do you think she's _really_ going to understand?" In a very un-Sam gesture, he gulped down the rest of his glass.

Dean reached over and refilled his glass without a second thought before answering honestly, "Dunno. You caught on pretty quickly. But then again, you had Mom for a shorter time." He tossed down another gulp. "Has she asked for Sarah before this?"

Sam shrugged like the answer was obvious. "Of course she has. She asks where her mom is or when she's coming home. It's not as frequent as it was the first week...but today was the first time she _called out_ for her. She was having a tantrum in the middle of the store and I couldn't control it. Emily knew that and she wanted her MOM." He pounded back another huge gulp of whisky.

Dean tried to speak as gently as he can- he was still Dean, after all. "Sammy, she was throwing a fit. She didn't know what she was saying. She was probably just looking for an 'out.' Was she not getting her way?"

Sam subtly nodded, letting Dean know that he'd hit it spot on. He responded quietly, "But Sarah would have known what to do." Because she never froze up in these parenting situations. It was flawless for her.

Dean tilted his head, trying to see if Sam was serious. After realizing that he was, Dean looked into his glass and swirled the contents of it around. After a moment, he spoke, "Do you remember when we were kids, and that time that you cut your knee open on a broken piece of glass in a parking lot at a motel?"

Sam slightly chuckled, having no idea where he was going with this, but he welcomed the distraction. "You mean the broken beer bottle?"

"Yeah, that one. You were probably like...four? I think? Anyways, you were freaking out. There was blood all over your leg. I took you into the motel bathroom to try to clean it up. And you remember me making up that stupid little rhyme about the broken glass, where I kept saying 'ass' and making you laugh?" Dean took a drink while smiling, thinking about that memory. "You remember that?"

Sam did faintly recall the memory. He hadn't remembered Dean's choice of words, but he did remember the feeling of being cheered up by his big brother. He nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"Do you think I had a freaking clue what I was doing then? Nope. I only knew I had to help you out- get you distracted, keep you from crying. And it worked." He took another sip. "So what makes you think Sarah would've had it all figured out? That she would have known what to do about Emily's tantrum? Dude, I hate to burst your bubble, but she was making it up- just like you. She was damn good at it- I'll give you that. But kids don't come with a 'how to' manual. You'll figure it out. And I'll help you." It was his necessary big brother speech that he had to get out.

Sam really let the words sink. He'd never thought about it that way. Dean had always had the answer to everything. He'd known how to fix it all without breaking a sweat. "So you're telling me to make everything up as I go?" He laughed at how it sounded. To him, that was the worst possible scenario. Sam planned. He couldn't 'make it up' as he went along with his daughter. He liked to know what was coming and what to do. But then again, when had his life ever been like that? No. He'd always had to make everything up on the go, so parenting wasn't going to be any different. "I guess that's how it'll be then." He was starting to realize that he didn't have any other choice. Hating the sudden epiphany, he drowned himself in more whisky.

"Sam- look. I know you hate making it up on the fly. But whatever you're doing- it's right. All you have to do is take one look at that curly haired kid. She's awesome." He sniffed and got a fake pompous look on his face. "Probably gets that from me, but I'm sure you've had a little influence on her." He grinned as he sipped again.

Sam shook his head and chuckled at the usual Dean comments. So he threw it back at him with his own cocky grin, momentarily forgetting about the pain. "You said you'd help. Guess that means you're in diaper duty this week."

Dean about choked on his drink. He came back up with a rogue grin. "Hey- if she wasn't having a tantrum about a loaded diaper, that's still on you, buddy. I'll take care of everything else." They drank in a comfortable silence again, before Dean broke the ice again. "How are _you_ doing?"

Sam's smile slowly faded at the question. He hated talking about himself, especially in such a vulnerable state, but he had to have known the question would eventually come up. He thought through his response, wanting to be truthful to his brother now. "I've been better." There was a pause and when he turned to look at Dean, his eyes reflected how he felt. "I know we will be okay." It was because he'd finally accepted he _wasn't_ okay. He'd made himself open up to his brother's help. Dean would help pull them through this. He had to because Sam wasn't sure he could do it himself.

Dean reached over and slapped a hand down on Sam's knee. "I know you will be too. You can stay as long as you need, man. I can handle the noise." He grinned, but the truth of it was that Dean hated it, being here by himself. He needed the sounds, the knowledge that there was another human being nearby, so he didn't feel abandoned. But he didn't think about that. Right now, it was all about Sam and what Sam needed. "You want to try to make Em her own room here? Or do you want her with you?"

"It's a nice idea but I can't trust her in any room alone here. There are literal ticking bombs just waiting to go off." He threw in a chuckle. But it was really just an excuse so _he_ didn't have to be here alone. He'd rather have her close for comfort.

"Hey! I got all the bombs." Dean took a drink, but just before he tilted the glass towards his mouth, he muttered, "...I think." He finished off his glass and poured himself another. "Yeah, it's probably better that she's with you. I'll try to keep the hookers away from her." Dean grinned, clearly teasing him.

Sam shook his head with a lighthearted laugh. "She catches a hooker around here, that's something _you'll_ have to explain."

He quipped, "I got no problem with that. _You're_ the one who'll have a problem with my graphic explanation. I'll use drawings." He chuckled before taking a long sip. Looking into his glass, he quietly commented, "I miss this, man."

"What, whisky? Isn't this your bedtime ritual?" He took a mouthful of his own, nearing the bottom of his second glass.

Dean snickered, but swirled his glass around. "Naw man. You. I miss having you around here. I know you're doing what's best for Emily- I can't deny that. I just...whatever. I'm just glad you knew where to come." After another pause, he added, "So why now? Why not a week ago when you were lying through your teeth to me that you were fine?"

Sam smiled at his brother's confession and for a moment he felt bad inside. This was the first time he'd been here in more than two years. He'd never wanted to bring Emily or Sarah around this part of his life but today he had no choice. "Glad we're still welcome here." He gulped whisky as he prepared his own confession, the alcohol clearly taking effect. "We came because I didn't think I could hold it together anymore. A week ago, I was trying my damnest to be okay…trying to hold it together for Emily. She deserves that. And after today...all I wanted to do was find a way to bring her back for Emily. It's all I WANT to do. It's an urge coursing through my veins and I'm not sure I could fight it on my own, Dean. That's why we are here….so I _don't_ …so I don't go down that road."

Dean froze, the glass half way to his mouth. "'Bring her back'?" There was a warning tone in his voice. Not harsh, but more like 'you better not be thinking what I think you're thinking'.

"My daughter cried out for her. Wouldn't doing anything possible to fix it cross _your_ mind?" His eyes were begging Dean to challenge his –flawed- logic. Dean had been down a very similar road himself with Sam years and years ago, so he couldn't be one to judge.

Dean carefully put his glass down, choosing his words. "Yes. But we both know how that ends. And you've got someone who needs you- badly. Even more so than I did."

"I know that." He was overly aware of how he was needed now. "That's why we came here. I couldn't make my mind stop reeling with ideas, so I had to get out of that house, get away from the memories. So, we came here because I knew you'd talk me down from the edge." He gave his brother a soft glance, his eyes showing how much he needed the support.

Dean smiled, relieved that Sam made the right call. He snorted under his breath. "Well. That's a change, eh? Usually we're trying to fight over letting each other drop into the abyss." He finished off his second glass, but just let the empty tumbler sit on the table for a moment. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Sammy...look. I'm not gonna give you the speech. Okay? You know what happens when we try to raise the dead. We've both been there enough. I know it's tempting, man. And I can't even begin to know what this feels like for you, alright? I know that. But we're in a totally different league now, dude. There's a kid involved. And not just any kid- _your_ kid. Those kinds of ideas aren't an option anymore- and I don't mean you _can't_ do them. I mean- they _aren't_ an option. And you need to get that through your head before I let you step foot outside of this bunker. You get me?" There was a side to Dean that always felt he had to protect Sammy, even though his 'kid' brother now had a kid of his own.

Sam's eyes welled up with tears from the onslaught of emotion. He knew he wanted to bring her back, even if it was just to have one final goodbye, but there was no way it could happen. And Dean saying out loud what his inner monologue had been saying all along really hit home. He tried to wish the tears away as he smiled. "Well, we may be here a while." Healing was going to take more time than he knew.

"Good. 'Cause I ain't lettin' you out until _I'm_ convinced. Big brother prerogative, you know." Dean grinned and poured another round. "Are you going to be able to remote in for work? On the Twitter – Face – thing?"

Sam gladly took another sip of the liquid, already feeling the first two glasses. But he didn't mind-not tonight. He laughed at Dean's question. "I think Em knows more about technology than you do." Dean would never learn, but maybe one day his daughter would have the necessary patience to teach him about technology. Then Sam truly responded, "No, they gave me a month of leave, so it's been nice to have a break. Emily's going to be excited tomorrow when she really realizes you're here."

Dean chuckled, already looking forward to corrupting his niece. "You think she'll like this place?"

"Oh I'm sure she will love it. She likes to run around and explore, which is why we need to lock up some of the rooms." That was the last thing he needed, his kid finding the torture dungeon. Sam finished off his last glass of whisky in one almighty gulp that put even Dean to shame. "I think it's time to turn in."

Dean held up the decanter, smiling his rogue grin as he swirled the liquid. "Sure I can't tempt you into one more?"

Sam stood up and held his hand out to stop Dean but it actually took him a moment to steady himself. It'd been a very long time since he'd downed that much hard liquor in such a short time. "I need to pace myself to I can keep up with you." He walked over and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Thanks, man."

Dean chuckled at Sam's stumbling, despite the thanks. "You've gotten soft on me in the 'burbs, Sammy. Come on." He took the hand that was on his shoulder and pulled it around himself, taking some of Sam's weight. "Let's get you to bed, lightweight," he teased as he started to walk towards Sam's room.

Sam let his brother help him for the first time in a while, not having the energy to fend him off. The only come back that fell out was, "Yeah but you're an alcoholic. I can't keep up with that." His dimples shined through.

"Hey- I prefer the term 'liquor enthusiast'." Sam could hear the grin in Dean's voice. They got to the doorway of the room, and Dean carefully reached out to open it, not wanting to wake Emily. He made sure Sam was carefully seated on the edge of the bed before he let him go. "Alright. You sure you're okay?" he asked in a whisper.

But Sam stood right back up and pulled Dean into one of those "I thought you were dead" hugs they'd shared on so many occasions. It was a death grip around him and the whisky let him think it was okay to hold on longer than usual. After a long moment, he finally pulled back and slapped him on the shoulder. "I know we don't say it enough and now I'll never be able to tell Sarah again." There were tears forming behind his eyes. "I love you, man."

Dean was unsure of what to do. Even though he didn't want to admit it, he knew Sam's words were too true to deny. He put his hands on either side of his little brother's face, just like he did on every occasion when he thought he'd lost Sam for good. "I love you too, brother." He gently patted him on the cheek once and dropped his hands before he could do something dumb like cry at the chick flick moment. "Now get some sleep." He laughed lightheartedly. "I'll make sure the coffee's extra strong in the morning."

Sam gave him one last appreciative dimpled grin before gently getting under the covers. He scooted over close to a sleeping Emily, who instantly melted into her father's side.

Once Dean had gently closed the door, he leaned back against the wall, scrubbing his hands down his tired face. He went back into the war room, poured himself another whisky, and then made quick work of removing all the lore books in the library that he knew held spells or incantations to raise the dead. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam, but to him, leaving those books there taunting his brother was the same as leaving a pack of cigarettes in the room with a recovering smoker. He quickly dumped the books into a closet and locked it, dropping the key into his pocket. Another quick swing and listen by Sam's door, making sure he wasn't in distress, and he headed to bed himself.

Sam closed his eyes and for the first time in many, many days, he fell asleep without tears and an empty feeling in his pit. Emily slept right into Sam's side the whole night, subconsciously sensing his presence and feeling at peace. He had his arm wrapped around her protectively like he would never let her go. He was going to protect her forever- come hell or high water.

* * *

 _The End._


End file.
